


Dance

by ruric



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for pomak78's 2009 prompt: Angel, Faith/Angel, Dance
Relationships: Angel/Faith Lehane
Kudos: 1
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2009





	Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for pomak78's 2009 prompt: Angel, Faith/Angel, Dance

Her hair is pulled roughly back and caught up in a loose ponytail, tendrils escaping to cling to her cheek and neck.

Her jeans and the black vest top she's wearing cling as if they've been sprayed on to the lithe figure beneath. The music she's got blasting out of the speakers is so loud it's not only assaulting his ear drums but he can feel it throbbing up through his feet, a screaming chord and the wailing of the singer delivering a solid punch to the solar plexus.

Her eyes are half closed, lips parted, her arms snaking above her head, the thump of her boot heels picking up the rhythm as her body moves sinuously to the beat.

It would be churlish to interrupt so he leans a shoulder against the door frame, crosses his arms and settles into watch...and admire.

He's known her for 10 years, but the living they've all done in those years makes it feel more like a lifetime, and she's grown from a sulky self-centered teen into the woman she is now.

A woman with cobwebs dusting her hair like frost on a winter morning, and smudges of dirt and grime decorating her cheeks and arms.

The music winds down and she turns, spots him, rests her hands on her hips and tilts her head to one side, and the look she sends him he knows only too well.

"Enjoying the show?" her grin is wide and easy and her eyes sparkle with amusement because she knows he doesn't...won't ...can't dance.

"I always do."

She meets him halfway across the room, bodies fitting together like two parts of a whole and he buries his nose in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder so he can breathe in the warm musky scent of her.

She laughs as he mouths at her skin, fangs grazing lightly and it's easy enough to pick her up and sweep from the mess of the room they're trying to unpack into one they already have.

He drops her in the center of the bed, follows her down, her hands reaching for him as he tugs the vest free of her jeans. There's more than one way to dance and he's very good at _this_.


End file.
